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Chapter 8
Though he spoke of it with words, what Eldmir truly sought was not some vague “Age of the First Dawn.”
If he could lay even the smallest groundwork for the coming race war that the game’s flow inevitably promised, it would surely benefit the elves in one way or another.
Preparation for the race war—forming a friendly relationship with the beastkin, or at the very least escaping a hostile one. Originally, such a thing would have been impossible. But if those little ones really were royalty of the beastkin, then perhaps it could be done. And that was something only he, a former player, could accomplish.
That was the answer he had arrived at—the conclusion he reached to preserve his race as an elf.
Indeed, before he even realized it, he had already come to love the elves so much that there was no turning back.
“…Hmm.”
Perhaps because Eldmir had brought up the Age of the First Dawn, Istein hesitated. He too, being an elf, carried a vague sense of reverence toward that mythical era.
“I hope you understand, brother. I too once thought the way you do. But I’ve changed my mind.”
“……”
Istein remained silent. His furrowed brows showed that he had much to say, but he seemed to be carefully choosing his words.
Perhaps displeased by Istein’s silence, one of the elves behind him cut in.
“Istein, are you really going to follow the words of this child?”
A hooded elf, voice thick with dissatisfaction, spoke with contempt.
“We have no choice, Ervan. This young brother and Eshiria seem firm in their beliefs. We can’t just abandon them.”
“Ridiculous! To go this far, for those beasts of all things?”
“Hey, brother.”
Eldmir bared his teeth in a grin at the grumbling elf.
“If you’ve got complaints, say them to me directly instead of muttering like a child.”
“…What did you say?”
The hooded elf flared in anger. Eldmir found the sight strangely refreshing. Never once in the village had he seen an elf actually lose their temper.
Watching an elf get angry—it wasn’t frightening, but oddly fascinating. Eldmir decided to push further.
The tension he had first felt was long gone, replaced by a strangely natural flow of conversation.
“Brother, why act so childish? I have my role to play, and you have yours. Right now, they just happen to clash. With a little compromise from both sides, everything can end peacefully here. Isn’t it simple? You fulfill your duty, and we fulfill ours.”
That only seemed to aggravate Ervan further. He strode up, jabbing a finger at Eldmir’s face.
“How arrogant, young elf. We have lived hundreds of years, devoting our lives as Sentinels of the Forest—with our very lives at stake! For our kin, for the forest! For centuries! And you dare speak to us that way?”
His chest heaved with anger.
“What weight lies on your shoulders? You haven’t even undergone the Rite of Adulthood. What sense of duty could you possibly claim to have? Have you ever fought a battle with your life on the line? Have you ever once upheld the Oath of the Forest? If you know nothing, then stay out of this!”
“……”
“Enough, Ervan. He’s still a child. You’re going too far.”
Istein’s calming words made Ervan pause, breathing heavily.
“…Yes. I need to cool my head.”
Watching this, Eldmir was honestly dumbfounded.
He didn’t show it outwardly, but inwardly he felt embarrassed.
He had been carried away, spouting off, and got put in his place. More than that, he had never imagined another elf would rebuke him with such harsh words.
He had gotten careless—his lighthearted mood had made his actions careless too.
So Eldmir admitted fault.
“I apologize. I didn’t mean to belittle you.”
Ervan was right—he wasn’t a Sentinel. He had never experienced war, never spent centuries guarding the forest.
He had never even tried to understand such things. He was a reincarnator who had lived thirty years as a human before becoming an elf.
He could never truly comprehend what it meant to uphold duty over centuries, to devote one’s very life to the Oath of the Forest.
He knew nothing—neither as a player, nor as a newly reborn elf. Yet he had carelessly trampled on their conviction.
After hearing his apology, Ervan clicked his tongue and turned away.
At that moment, the last elf who had remained silent finally spoke.
“So… instead of just clashing, let’s reach a conclusion. What shall we do, friends? Should we respect these neighbors’ ‘guests’?”
“Of course we should…!”
“This isn’t so simple, Ervan.”
Istein cut him off.
“This could easily escalate into conflict between villages. We need to tread carefully and find common ground.”
“Then why should we bend to their whims?”
“In that case, it’s simple.”
Eldmir cut in again. Ervan glared at him, but Eldmir shrugged it off lightly.
“If you won’t back down, then neither will we. If you want to carry out your duty on those beastkin girls, you’ll have to go through me first.”
“…What?”
As cold silence fell, Eldmir felt a strange sense of resignation.
His original resolve—to leave everything to Eshiria and quietly follow from behind—had long since crumbled.
Now, he had firmly decided. He would save the feline girls, no matter what.
“You asked if I’d ever fought with my life on the line.”
Eldmir smiled, baring a predator’s grin—the same fierce expression he had once shown Istein.
He had lived a hard life. Twenty years in this unwanted reincarnation, enduring a fate neither too long nor too short.
This world was a game world, yes. But it was also undeniably real. And in that reality, he had lived as a player—a life that was anything but easy.
During childhood, Omega World’s unique tutorial system denied players any system support—no saves, no status screens, nothing.
In that harsh environment, players had to somehow maximize their latent abilities, or else their characters would be ruined.
At the Rite of Adulthood, stats, skills, and class choices all depended on how one had been raised.
Which meant…
“Yes, I’ve fought with my life on the line. Many times.”
“…You…”
“I don’t know your centuries of duty. I can’t pretend to. I’m just a greenhorn who hasn’t even come of age.”
Yet, that very greenhorn looked them dead in the eye, with unshakable conviction.
“So I respect your will. You cannot overlook them as Sentinels. But just as you carry your duty, we too carry ours. So let’s keep this simple—let’s settle it plainly.”
Eldmir drew his bow. Slowly, deliberately.
The Sentinels’ eyes locked onto him.
“Let’s duel.”
He nocked an arrow.
“Er…”
“Mother, trust me. Just this once.”
He cut off Eshiria’s anxious voice, keeping his eyes only on the three elves before him.
—Think you can handle this, rebel? Artyr whispered.
Eldmir didn’t answer. Instead, he muttered:
“We can argue all day about who’s right, but then the beastkin will die before we finish. Let’s stop wasting time and find the fastest way to a conclusion.”
“…Are you really even an elf?” Ervan asked, bewildered.
Heretic.
It was the word Eldmir had heard most often from his village.
He grinned, dropping all polite speech, his tone light and mocking.
“What else do I look like, bastard?”
Then—twang.
His bowstring snapped forward.
The Sentinels’ eyes widened in shock, not expecting him to actually shoot.
Fwoosh!
The wind itself seemed to guide the arrow.
—Ho!— Artyr gasped in awe.
It wasn’t the work of a spirit. It wasn’t the will of the forest.
It was purely Eldmir’s intent—his will alone bending the wind.
A feat not of mere archery, but of mystical art.
Thwack! Crack! Rip!
Though it was a single arrow, three sounds of destruction rang out.
“What?!”
“What in the—?!”
The three Sentinels cried out.
The arrow had pierced through each of their garments before returning to Eldmir’s quiver.
One cloak was torn, another’s hem ripped, and one had even felt the graze along his side.
It had been so fast that the seasoned Sentinels only realized what had happened after checking their own clothes.
Cold sweat ran down their backs.
“I told you, brothers.”
This was the moment Eldmir fully believed in his identity as a player.
The courage to stand against centuries of conviction.
A skill.
In Omega World, during the childhood stage, no system mechanics could be used—no status screen, no inventory.
Perhaps because of that, Eldmir couldn’t even identify the skill’s name or details. But he knew it was real. And that he had achieved it not by class advancement, but by sheer effort.
It was a monumental achievement—likely the first and last time in Omega World’s history that a child had acquired a skill.
“Don’t underestimate me just because I’m young.”
Eldmir shrugged and drew another arrow.
The Sentinels instinctively prepared their bows as well.
“Er.”
Eshiria’s anxious call went ignored.
“That was a warning. I may be young, but I’m not weaker than any of you. Not even if the three of you fought me together.”
He slowly drew again.
“So this is your last chance.”
Pulling the string taut, Eldmir said:
“Wouldn’t you agree my proposal is the most peaceful solution?”
“……”
Even Ervan, and Istein as well, were left speechless.
At length, Ervan scowled and shouted at Eshiria.
“Damn it, child of El Rur! Eshiria, he’s your son—control him! Do you not understand what it means to point a bow at your own kin?”
El Rur.
Eldmir sneered at the insult.
Like the ancestor god of the Dark Elves? Him?
He would’ve preferred to be compared to Ka Hwaran, the orc god.
“Mother, don’t answer. Believe in your son.”
“Young elf! Do you think saving just four beastkin girls will benefit us? Do you really believe they’ll bring harmony between elves and beastkin? It’s all delusion! Wake up! How can you aim your bow at kin for such fantasies—over mere beasts!”
He wasn’t wrong. His arguments were sound.
But Eldmir still didn’t lower his arrow.
“You don’t need to involve yourselves in that.”
“You—!”
Ervan was about to lash out when Istein laid a hand on his shoulder.
“Enough, Ervan.”
“Istein!”
But Istein only shook his head.
“The young elf is right.”
His eyes turned to Eldmir.
“Just as we bear our burdens, so too do they. We are not such narrow-minded, savage beings that we would force our will with violence.”
“……”
Faced with such reason, Ervan fell silent. He opened his mouth several times, then closed it each time.
Istein nodded.
“We must acknowledge it. They too follow the spirit of the forest. If they are true to that teaching, then we have no cause for enmity.”
Eldmir’s eyes lit up.
Slowly, he loosened the bowstring.
“Then…”
“Yes.”
Istein nodded.
“I will follow your words, young elf.”
